There is No Love Sincerer
by Allekha
Summary: Five kinds of pirozhki Nikolai made for his grandson Yuri.


Nikolai listens as Yuri talks – and talks, and talks, and talks – about all of the things that have happened since he was last in Moscow. He spends a while on his new routines, promising that they will be better than ever before, and on his new ballet teacher (goodness, to hear that someone so famous is teaching his grandson – it warms Nikolai to know that Yuri is getting the instruction he deserves), and eventually, he gets to Japan.

There's something in his words about temples and waterfalls that Nikolai can't quite make sense of, and Yuri proudly shows off an awful-looking jacket that he, of course, adores because it has a tiger on it, and it sounds like he even made a new friend or two over there. And the food. He finally explains what katsudon is, though he doesn't sing its praises quite so highly this time, though the pirozhki Nikolai made for him are long eaten. Nikolai doesn't forget the expression he makes while thinking of it, though, and takes careful note of what else Yuri mentions about Japanese food in-between talking about triplets and complaining about a Japanese Yuri. He thought he hated tofu but he liked it when his hosts made it; he didn't like the fish; chopsticks were too hard to use but the noodles were better than pasta.

Later, when Yuri has been shuttled back to his hotel, Nikolai thinks: for Yuri to mention this katsudon almost right off his plane, it must be something special, or at least something special for him. What better way to help Yuri celebrate his debut in the senior division and to cheer him on for the rest of the season than to make something based on both that and his favorite food?

The first attempt doesn't work out that well, nor the second, though the third is much improved. To his own disappointment, he ends up missing out on Yuri's first skate. Doubtless he will be shown a recording of it later, but that isn't the same as being there in person. He makes the second, though, and he brings his good batch of the katsudon pirozhki along.

He doesn't know what katsudon is supposed to taste like. The one he tried was good, but nothing to get enthusiastic about. He must have done it right, however, as Yuri's eyes go wide and shining the second he bites into the pirozhki, and the way he scarfs it down with a grin on his face is a great reward – as is the way he immediately demands the recipe.

~!~

However beautiful Yuri was in Moscow, he is a stunning sight in Barcelona, even on Nikolai's old television. He combines the grace his ballet teacher must have taught him with the strength to complete programs that even Nikolai can recognize are incredibly difficult without falling apart. When the fact that he has won gold is announced, over more experienced competitors, over the Japanese Yuri who Victor Nikiforov himself has been coaching, Nikolai smiles at the television and thinks of the days when Yuri could barely keep himself up on his skates. How far he has come!

The phone wakes him, very late. Nikolai answers it; it must be late in Barcelona now, too, and Yuri's voice on the other end sounds exhausted. Nikolai reassures him that he was watching the whole time, and that he is very proud, and asks if he cannot make some time in Moscow before returning to Saint Petersburg.

This time, he makes sweet pirozhki: apples, cooked until soft, and orange sauce, and a touch of honey, with just a bit of coloring to get the filling to the right color.

Yuri stares after he bites into it, then asks what it is as he licks spilled filling off his fingers like he's one of the cats he loves so much.

It is, of course, a golden pirozhki for a gold medal winner. Yuri insists on taking a picture of the one he bit into on the plate next to his medal to show to his friends or some such, then proceeds to devour the entire batch in one sitting. Nikolai scolds him for the stomachache he will get later, but he's sure his lack of actual displeasure shows through.

~!~

When Yuri comes to visit him in the summer – on the heels of a _very_ successful season – he spends much of the first day going on about how his ballet teacher wants him to pick soft music to skate to, how Victor wants to choreograph him something sweeter than _Agape_. Nikolai, who is unfortunately well-acquainted with Yuri's taste in music, says little on the subject, except reminding him that perhaps their advice has a point.

There's nothing wrong with Yuri skating to something light and innocent – his _Agape_ program had the television commentators fawning over him, and not just because of the difficulty. Nikolai thinks about it again after Yuri has gone to his room (probably not to sleep, though he really should be at his age and this hour – but Nikolai doesn't have the heart to lecture him about it at the moment) and as he washes the dishes from dinner.

Perhaps pirozhki inspired by the program will help Yuri think more seriously about rejecting the idea of a lighter program out of hand.

It is several days before he has anything to show for all of his thoughts. He had debated for a while what should be the base of the filling: white would be good, he thinks. Not potatoes (too heavy) or cottage cheese (too rich). He remembers what Yuri said about the tofu his hosts made and picks some up at the store after a bit of searching. Nikolai has never eaten it before, and while the texture is alright, it's rather bland.

In the end, he mixes it with onions and just a little carrot, adds pale mushrooms and salt, and while in the end it's not quite as white as he envisioned, it's healthy and – more importantly – tastes good.

Yuri brightens up when the pirozhki come out. Nikolai smiles at him and hands one over, enjoying the shocked look that passes over Yuri's face once he realizes what, exactly, the filling is. The _Agape_ pirozhki isn't quite the success as his other experiments, but Yuri still eats them with the same eagerness that he shows for Nikolai's usual recipes.

~!~

It seems wrong to only make a themed pirozhki for one of Yuri's programs, so a few days later, Nikolai sets out to make one for his free skate. This one should have a stronger taste, to match the fast pace of the music and the way Yuri skated to it. Something spicy, perhaps, but Yuri doesn't like food with too much spice. Bold in color, too.

The song isn't harsh, though, not like Yuri's awful music, so he certainly can't make it just heat and spice. Nikolai doesn't remember the whole song, of course, but there were slower parts, hopeful and content, between the sections of rapid piano notes that had Yuri pushing himself ever harder.

He gives it a sweet base, then, red cherry to match the accents on his costume that danced like little fires as Yuri swooped and turned across the ice without a moment's pause for breath. He spices it carefully, pepper and ginger and cloves, until the flavor is strong but not harsh and still very sweet.

The filling gets everywhere when Yuri eats them, dribbling down his hands when he doesn't pay enough attention to the food he's holding until it almost looks as though he's cut his palms. The comments he makes on them aren't exactly complimentary – mostly he says that it's like nothing he can remember eating before – and Nikolai can tell that he doesn't like them as much as the others he's made. Still, Yuri dutifully eats more than his share.

~!~

Even in summer, Yuri must train. So Nikolai sees him off on his way back to Saint Petersburg, but the night before he stays up late making pirozhki to send with him.

He isn't sure what to make, at first. Something sweet? Something healthy, to help fuel his skating? Something new and different and interesting?

In the end, what he makes is not new, or sweet, or probably very healthy. He thinks about how Yuri will be living far away, again, away from his home city, away from the grandfather that has worked so hard to raise him, away from the rest of his family. He doesn't complain about the situation, and Nikolai knows that he has friends, and he lives with his coach and ballet teacher, and he has his cat, but still. Surely within his busy schedule, his grandson must have time to feel homesick once in a while.

He gives him the bag of pirozhki when he drops him off at the airport. Yuri had plenty to eat for breakfast, but even still, he pulls one out and starts eating it even as Nikolai is trying to tell him to keep skating his best and to take care of himself and to remember to call once in a while. As soon as he gets to the filling, he glances down at bread in his hand, and his bored expression morphs into something softer.

It's nothing fancy. Cabbage and onion cooked with plenty of butter, mixed with egg to give it some heartiness. It's also what he used to make most often when Yuri was a child, his favorite snack after school or skating practice.

* * *

A/N: Written for pantsoffdanceoff for the Chocolate Box 2017 exchange.

Tofu pirozhki is a real thing, or at least it exists in the form of a recipe on Cookpad.

Full quote I stole for the title:  
 _There is no love sincerer than the love of food._ \- George Bernard Shaw


End file.
